


scratch your excuse (stitch your noose)

by dishonestdreams, MistressKat, pushkin666



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Arguing, Ficlet, M/M, Patrick is done with this shit, Pete messes up, Round Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dishonestdreams/pseuds/dishonestdreams, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/pseuds/pushkin666
Summary: "Explain it to me again," Patrick said. "In small words."
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Kudos: 10





	scratch your excuse (stitch your noose)

**Author's Note:**

> Tipsy round robin ficlet.

"Explain it to me again," Patrick said. "In small words." He was trying to hold onto his temper, but – as usual when it came to Pete – it was like trying to hold a fistful of sand; impossible and very frustrating. 

In front of their bus... What used to be their bus, Pete shifted his weight from one foot to another. And then back again. 

"Ah. Well. _Look_."

"I _am_ looking," Patrick growled. "And I'm seeing someone about to get the shit kicked out of them if I don't get an explanation convincing me otherwise."

"But you're not _really_ looking," Pete said. "See, this is how it is, Patrick. I just..."

"No,” Patrick responded, watching as Pete curled in on himself with a shiver. "You don't get to do that. Not now, not here. It's just not right. Do you know what?" He pushed his face up against Pete's. "I'm just sick of you Pete and sick of your little games. We're not going to play them anymore, do you understand?"

Pete stepped back, away from Patrick. "It was only Ryan," he said. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Tell. Him. No." Patrick bit out every syllable like it _hurt_. In a way, it did. Because they kept _doing_ this, over and again, the same dance, the same game and only the players changed. The moves were always the same.

"Yeah," Pete said, and Patrick could see him gearing himself up to offer some _bullshit_ excuse, and it made something dirty and rotten pulse low in his belly. "I know, 'Trick, but-"

"Don't." It came out sharper than he'd meant it to – fucking _Pete_ – and Pete froze, his mouth hanging open stupidly.

"What?"

"I've changed my mind. I don't want to hear it." Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Because all of a sudden, he couldn't bear to _see_ it either anymore, couldn't keep looking at Pete full of mock remorse that would just turn into a joke a day later. "Just... You better fix it before the others get here. Unless you really want that ass kicking." Andy would probably kill him actually, and they both knew it. 

Patrick just didn't care right now. Not like caring had made any difference before. 

He turned to go.

He didn't get more than a step away before Pete had caught his arm, pulling him back. "Patrick, look I'm sorry." 

Patrick stood still. "Just don't, Pete." 

Pete stepped closer and Patrick tensed as though he wanted to take flight. Pete released Patrick's arm and slowly he began to run his fingers up and down the soft denim. 

"I'm sorry, okay," he pleaded. "I didn't mean to piss you off and it's just Ryan always seems to want my help."

Patrick sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was difficult to ignore the feel of Pete's fingers running up and down his arm and he just couldn't. If it was anybody but Ryan he would be able to deal with this but it was Ryan, again, and he just didn't want to hate Ryan he really didn't but sometimes, especially when Pete acted like this it was difficult not to. 

"Do you even get why I'm pissed?" he asked, suddenly, and Pete blinked.

"Of course, yeah," he said, but there was a wobbly undercurrent of uncertainty colouring the words, and Patrick narrowed his eyes.

"Tell me then."

Pete blinked again, a rapid flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. "Well, it's got to be the... I mean, I figure it's the... Ryan and this... whole thing..."

He trailed off uncertainly, and Patrick smiled, small, tight, humourless and a little mean. It didn't feel great. "Yeah," he said, "I thought so."

"'Trick," Pete started, and Patrick jerked his arm away from Pete's touch in a sudden, sharp, movement.

"Don't," he said, again, and, wow, this was getting old, fast. "I'll tell you what, Pete. Come and find me when you've worked it out." He hesitated, just a fraction of second before he pressed on. "Don't bother if you don't."

Pete's silence as he walked away spoke volumes.


End file.
